


Thicker Than Blood

by xfsista



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Community: interhouse_fest, Drama, F/M, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-06
Updated: 2012-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 19:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/434394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xfsista/pseuds/xfsista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Struck by a magical malady, Hermione can only be saved by someone who has often wished her dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thicker Than Blood

His father once told him that the only good Mudblood was a dead one. That's why there was great irony in what he was doing.

That old coot, Dumbledore, came to him first. “Miss Granger is terribly ill, Draco,” he said. “We cannot force you to help her, but it would be a tremendous kindness if you would.”

It had to be some kind of trick. Some sick joke to ‘show him the light’ and make him feel sympathy for that little filthy-blooded swot.

Draco gave the weathered headmaster a cool gaze. “I don’t think my father would appreciate me helping out one of her _kind_.” He grimaced over the last word as if he didn’t like the taste of it in his mouth.

Next was Potter, pleading like a beggar in the street, his green eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Please, Malfoy! She’s dying!” 

His cronies chuckled, but Draco kept a straight, serious face. “How about a compromise?”

Harry looked at him with a mixture of hope and dubiousness. “What sort of compromise?”

“I’ll consider it if you beg. I want you on your knees, groveling at the feet of a Malfoy.” His mouth twisted into a mean-spirited smirk. “The Boy Who Begged.” 

Harry looked at him with disgust, but slowly dropped until he was kneeling on the cold stone floor, never breaking eye contact with Draco.

“I am begging you, Malfoy. Please help her.” His voice cracked with desperation.

The Slytherin laughed. “Tell Granger to say hello to your mum.”

Livid, Potter jumped up. “You’re nothing but a gutless coward, Malfoy!” he shouted as Draco walked away. “I hope you choke on your _pristine_ blood! She’s purer than you could ever hope to be!”

The last person who came to him was the Weasel. There was no appealing to his higher morals or begging for sympathy. It was a quick, “Oi, Ferret!” and a solid fist to the face knocking him clean out. 

When he awoke, he found himself in the hospital wing. He must have been out for quite some time as it was dark out with only moonbeams streaming through the windows as a source of light. 

His nose really smarted! He was going to kill that ginger prat. He rolled over with a soft groan, trying to ease the pressure of his injured sinuses, when he saw a body on the next bed. 

There was Hermione Granger, lying still as death with a complexion to match. For a moment, he thought she may not be breathing. For some inexplicable reason, his heart skipped a beat. He sighed in relief when he noticed her chest rising and falling shallowly.

Not dead. At least not yet.

He had never seen anyone seriously ill before, much less dying. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure if he had ever seriously considered death before. He had talked and joked about it, but never had the reality of it been mere feet away from him. 

It was not how he had thought it would be. 

There was something disturbing about seeing someone so young, usually full of life and vigor, looking so pallid and drained.

He heard the sound of gentle footsteps nearing and quickly closed his eyes, feigning sleep. 

“Do you not think we should transfer her to St. Mungo’s, Healer Watkins?” a feminine voice asked at a near whisper. Draco strained to hear. 

“Moving her in this state is quite dangerous.” The man’s answer was nearly as soft as the woman’s. “To be honest, I don’t know that we’d have much more luck at Mungo’s anyway. Madam Pomfrey, I’m afraid it may be time to bring in the girl’s family and friends to say their farewells.”

Draco thought he heard a sniffle as the two shuffled quietly back into Pomfrey’s office. As soon as he was certain they were gone, he opened his eyes again and stared at the girl across from him. 

He had wished death upon her more than once in his young life. Now that it had become a certainty, he found himself feeling oddly scared. Isn’t this what he wanted? No more bushy hair blocking his view in class. No more swotty, know-it-all making higher marks than he. No more “Miss Priss” acting like a moral authority over everyone. 

No more Granger. Forever.

The last thought pressed heavily on the conscience he didn’t even know he had. He did not like her at all, but he wasn’t sure he wanted her to die either. It felt wrong that someone his age should not get to grow up. 

He couldn’t imagine one day just being gone and no longer being able to play Quidditch or laugh with his friends. He wondered what sorts of things Granger would miss. Probably books. 

There would be a lot of books she’d never get to read. 

As he thought more about it, he started to imagine other things he didn’t like. He thought of her being forever quiet, sealed in a box in the ground. It chilled him deep down inside.

The old mediwitch wandered back into the room to check on her patients. Noticing Draco was awake, she had him sit up and follow her fingers as she moved them about. 

“How is your nose?” she asked matter-of-factly. Her eyes were rimmed red as if she had been crying.

“Sore.” His swollen nasal passages made his voice sound funny.

“Well, Mr. Weasley has quite a swing. Completely broke it. I had to reset it.” She handed him a potion. “Drink this. It’ll help with the pain. Go back to sleep and you can leave tomorrow morning.” Her tone was curt. She started to walk away when his voice stopped her.

“What’s wrong with her?” His eyes drifted to the bed next to his.

“She was stung by a venenum beetle whilst gathering potion ingredients. It poisoned her system and now her magic is attacking her.”

Magic was something that Draco had always trusted. The thought of it turning on some unsuspecting wizard and damaging his own body was startling. 

“Why does Professor Dumbledore think I can help her?”

Pomfrey pulled a chair close to his bed and sat next to him. “Our magic is a lot like our blood. There are different types. Miss Granger’s magical signature is a very rare kind. So rare that there’s only one other student in all of Hogwarts that shares this signature.”

“Me?” He looked at her incredulously.

She swallowed and nodded at him grimly. “We performed a spell using the school’s book that records magical births. Your name was the only one that lit up.”

He furrowed his brow and mulled the information over. He and Granger shared something? Their magic was the same? They were the same?

How could this be? His magic had been passed down from generation to generation for centuries. Her magic was supposed to be an abomination. A weird, freak accident.

It went against everything he had ever been taught.

As if she could read his mind, the older woman said, “I know it’s a lot to take in, Mr. Malfoy. Think of it this way: if this had happened to you, she would be the only person in this school that could have helped you. What do you think she would have done?”

Draco didn’t have to think very long to know what she would do. Oh, he could tell himself that she’d just leave him to rot, but he knew she wouldn’t. Even if Potter and Weasley begged her to let him die, she would stand up to them like the Gryffindor she was and help him. She’d do it, just like she tried to release house-elves that didn’t want her to.

She’d save him because she’d think it was the right thing to do.

“Don’t you…” He stumbled over his words. “Don’t you need my father’s permission before I do anything?” Even though Draco was starting to think she shouldn’t die, that didn’t mean his hard-hearted father would feel the same. The ramifications would be great.

“You’re seventeen, Mr. Malfoy. You’re no longer a child. The decisions you make are now your own.”

The knot in his throat tightened at that. His decision. It was up to him to decide if Granger was to live or die. Her life was in his hands. He was the one to choose if she’d go on to read more books or if she’d end up in a hole in the ground. 

His heart thudded loudly in his ears and sweat beaded on his brow. He looked up at the older woman intently.

“My father can’t know.”

Madam Pomfrey’s careworn face split into a cautiously encouraging grin. “Of course not.”

“Okay,” he breathed out.

He didn’t think her smile could have gotten any bigger, but it did. She patted his hand softly. “You’re doing the right thing, Draco. It’s very heroic.” She tapped the back of his hand once more before leaving to find the healer.

Malfoy sighed and leaned back into his pillow. So, this was what it felt like to be a hero? He wasn’t sure he liked it. He didn’t like this feeling of the weight of the world upon him, this frightening amount of responsibility. It made him queasy. 

Is this what Potter felt like?

His brain screeched to a halt. He had already become empathetic to Granger. That was enough. No need to start thinking about Potter’s feelings. That‘s a step away from sympathizing with a Weasley. 

No, he was going to stop that train of thought right now. He was not a hero. Maybe he could use this as a way to blackmail Granger or something?

Yeah. That was a good idea. None of this being selfless bullshit.

Fucking Gryffindors.

***

The procedure didn’t take long, but it was exhausting having his magic drained from him. 

The next time he woke it was daylight, specifically late afternoon, judging by the length of the sun’s rays being cast about the room. He was on his side facing Granger. She was a lot closer than she had been the night before. They’d had to push the beds close together to perform the magical transfusion spell. She was on her back, but her head was tilted toward him.

She still looked ghostly white, her normally pink lips colorless. The skin around her closed eyes appeared darker, giving the appearance that they were bruised. She even seemed smaller than he had remembered.

Did it not work? Had it all been for nothing? Was she even alive?

Tentatively, he reached across the small gap between the beds and softly touched her hand, curling his fingers into her palm. Her skin felt dry and warm.

He took a deep breath. She wasn’t dead.

He was startled when her hand clenched and her fingers gripped his. Draco snapped his eyes toward her face to see her looking back at him, her brown eyes dull from pain potions.

He felt trapped in her gaze. He couldn’t look away. Then, she surprised him further when the corner of her lip curled up into the tiniest hint of a smile. 

Something in his stomach tripped, and for the briefest second, he forgot to breathe. It was like the first time he rode a broom or when he climbed upon the Hogwarts Express as an eager eleven-year-old.

It was something new – perhaps even a kind of happiness – he wasn’t sure. He only knew that she was alive and it was because he chose to do something good.

It felt strangely nice. It felt right.

They lay there for the longest time, holding hands and staring at one another. Little did they know that with his decision, things had inexplicably changed and would never be the same as before.

***

It was a month later when she asked him for the first time why he’d helped her.

He brushed off her question. "I think I liked you better when you were unconscious. Your mouth didn't move so much." 

It was a smart-aleck reply, but he really wasn’t serious. She rolled her eyes and smiled indulgently. She, too, knew he didn’t mean it.

The second time she asked was on their graduation day. They stood together, her hand in his, watching the sun dip below the horizon over the lake. “Why did you decide to help me?”

"I thought a little bit of my magic would help improve you.” His cocky half-grin was fully in place. “Sadly, I was mistaken." The words were sarcastic, but the gentle squeezing of her hand told a different story.

The third time she asked, they were sitting in a fancy restaurant on their first real grown-up date. 

“Seriously, Draco, what changed your mind? No fooling this time.”

Uncomfortable with speaking so candidly, he cleared his throat and looked down at the table. 

“Honestly, Madam Pomfrey told me to think about what you would do if our roles had been reversed. I knew that you would have done the right thing, consequences be damned.”

Her eyes glistened in the candlelight. “But your father--”

He reached over and grabbed her hand, cutting her off. He squeezed her fingers reassuringly. “My whole life, my father told me that there was something wrong with Muggle-borns. It took something really horrific for me to realize that wasn’t true. Your magic and my magic are the same. Had I not realized that, it could have cost you your life.”

A tear escaped her lashes and he cupped her face, wiping away the moisture with his thumb. 

“The first time I take you out and you’re already crying.” He huffed dramatically. “I know people said this would end in tears, but this is ridiculous!”

She made a funny sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sniffle, smiling at him gratefully as he handed her his handkerchief.

The rest of the evening was lovely and ended with a promising kiss on her doorstep.

Later that night, as he sat alone in his tiny London flat, he thought about what he had told her. Upon discovering what Draco had done, his father had been surprisingly accepting. Lucius thought his son’s actions to be a strategic move. For once, a Malfoy looked like a hero.

However, he highly disapproved of Draco’s decision to first befriend, then romantically pursue Hermione. Sharing his magic with her as a means to boost his reputation was acceptable, but sharing his love with her was seen as a black mark. That life choice greatly strained his relationship with his father until Draco finally decided to leave the Manor for good.

Blood ties are strong, and sometimes he desperately missed his father. Or at least, the man he once thought his father to be. 

But his father had been wrong. If he had followed the path that had been set out before him, he would not have her.

His father once told him that blood was thicker than water. What he failed to realize, but which Draco now understood, was that sometimes there were other things that could be thicker than blood. 

He had come to care for Hermione greatly and hoped to have her in his life for a long time to come. However, if it should end, he took comfort in knowing that she would forever carry with her a part of his magic. No matter what, she would always have a part of _him_.

Although it wasn‘t quite so literal, he also knew that he would always have a piece of her in his heart. Through her, he had learned about compassion. She had taught him to not take everything at face value and that, sometimes, there is more to people than it may seem. He discovered that doing the right thing could feel really good.

Mostly, he learned that by saving her, he had saved himself.

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge debt of gratitude to the lovely phlox for her eagle eyes and encouragement.
> 
> This story was written for the [Interhouse Fest](http://interhouse-fest.livejournal.com/) on LiveJournal. The prompt: "Hermione needs a magical transfusion, and Draco is the closest donor." It was submitted by cheshyre.


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